


Born of Ash, Raised by Fire

by imaginary_dragonling



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Blood, Blood and Violence, Fantasy, Gen, High Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Phoenixes, Poison, Poisoning, Shapeshifting, Shiratorizawa, Stabbing, Youkai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 11:11:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16617854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_dragonling/pseuds/imaginary_dragonling
Summary: Semi Eita's time as a warrior is almost up. While he ponders his next step in life, he receives some disturbing news which threatens everything he had sworn to protect. Can Eita prevail and fulfill his vows? Or will he fail and doom Shiratorizawa to darkness? His trial by fire is only beginning.





	Born of Ash, Raised by Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TokiKurp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TokiKurp/gifts).



> This is my gift to TokiKurp for the Haikyuu Fantasy Exchange 2018! I'm sorry this is coming so late. I hope you like it!
> 
> Big thank you to [Crows_Imagine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crows_Imagine/pseuds/Crows_Imagine), [DameOfNoDelicacy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameOfNoDelicacy/pseuds/DameOfNoDelicacy), and [schion](http://schion.tumblr.com/) for helping me get to the finish line!

Even in the darkest nights, the sun will rise again.

The predawn chill crept through his open window, slipped through the edges of his dressing robe, and slid down the curve of his back like a caress. His skin prickled with goose flesh and Eita imagined the mark on his back warming him. 

Summer had arrived, but it was always cold on Mount Shiratorizawa. The castle walls were thick — white stone that reflected the sun and glinted like a crown jewel, visible from leagues away. It was rumored that on a clear day it’s peak could be seen from each of the five kingdoms. 

Eita wondered if that was true. 

Eita wrapped his hands around his cup of warm tea and raised it to his lips. He hoped his guest would show up soon.

No sooner had he thought that when a crow landed on his windowsill and cawed. Eita hurried to swallow his tea.

“You’re late,” Eita grumbled, watching in between coughing bouts as the crow spread his wings and began to dissolve like smoke. Its shape twisted, shifting like a shadow which no light could reach and when it touched the floor of his bedchamber, a man stood before him.

“Sorry, it’s been a long night.” Sugawara Koushi grinned at him, silver hair alighted like a halo from the sunlight behind him. It was unkempt and in serious need of a trim.

Eita poured him tea and pushed the cup towards him.

“Thanks,” Suga said. He dropped into a seat by the table and reached for the small basket of bread Eita had had the foresight to collect from the kitchens earlier. “May I?”

“Of course. Please help yourself.”

Eita refilled his cup and waited until Suga had finished inhaling two small loaves. When Suga had broken into a third, Eita spoke. “So, what was the urgent message you had for me?”

Suga paused in his chewing and, mouth still full, said, “I came to warn you. Shiratorizawa is in danger.”

Eita raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How so?”

It wasn’t that Eita didn’t believe him. Sugawara was not one to waste words or make light of so serious a claim. 

The legend of Shiratorizawa was known throughout the lands. A source of great power was rumoured to lie in their vaults, waiting to be unleashed onto the world. It was thought to be the power of the gods themselves, and to wield it would signify one’s divine right to rule. 

Naturally, the legend attracted many devotees. Rebellion leaders and grand kings came to pledge their allegiance, promising riches if they would only be blessed, if they could only be anointed, if they could only be assured that Shiratorizawa would stand with them.

Such foolishness was always turned away. Sometimes, the jilted kings attacked in retribution, raining armies and sorcery upon the castle on the mountain.

But Shiratorizawa’s defenses were formidable. The warrior ascetics who defended it were famous for their discipline and strength. Over the ages, through the rise and fall of kingdoms, Shiratorizawa persevered.

What new threat sought to breach their walls?

“Assassins.” Suga swallowed. “Our guess is, they are from outside the five kingdoms, maybe youkai. They move quickly and kill indiscriminately. My team and I have been tracking them for weeks now, but they continue to elude us.” Suga pushed his fringe out of his eyes. “Their goal is undoubtedly the egg.”

Eita folded his arms in front of him, absorbing the news. “Do you think they can seriously threaten us?”

Suga’s smile was humorless. “I don’t doubt your ability to run anything through with a spear, Semi-san. But brute force will not be enough for some enemies. I fear this is one of them.”

Eita noted the dirt under Suga’s fingernails, the dark circles under his eyes, and the dark stains on his clothes, almost invisible against the black cloth. The Crows may not have the same strength as Shiratorizawa, but they weren’t exactly weak. Anyone who could give the Crows this much trouble was worth mentioning to the Head Abbot. Arrogance was the downfall of many a defense. Eita would see to it that it was not theirs.

“How much time do we have?”

“Days. Maybe a week at most.” Suga’s fingers pulled the loaf into pieces. “We lost track of them over the river. Some kind of cloaking spell. The rest of my team are looking for them, and I came here.” The rest of the loaf crumpled in Suga’s fist. “I’m sorry I don’t have better news.”

A week. They would have to be on guard for a week. What was a week of vigilance when Eita and Shiratorizawa’s defenses had been waiting decades?

His fingers drummed a beat on the table.

Shiratorizawa was like a kingdom to itself. Sitting amid the mountains, the castle was self-sustaining. Its many gardens were blessed with arable land, its slopes and hidden valleys cultivated over the generations, bountiful harvest after bountiful harvest preserved and stored for times of hardship — times of war and times of famine; times like the present, if the rising strife and unrest Suga told him about were as severe as he made out.

Certainly there had been more traffic to their gates. Families with their homes on their backs or packed into saddlebags on their overworked beasts of burden. Hungry faces and desperate voices pleading, begging for refuge.

Eita could see how Shiratorizawa would seem like a haven to outsiders. But while they spared what they could and allowed travellers temporary respite from their journey, few were allowed to stay. Only the strong were chosen to serve.

“It’s alright.” Eita cleared his throat. “Your information has been most helpful. I’ll make sure Head Abbot Washijou knows about it.”

Suga nodded and then stood. “I had better get back to my team.” His hand hovered over the basket of bread. “May I…?”

“Of course,” Eita said. He rose to his feet and walked Suga to the window. The sun had risen, but the night’s chill still clung stubbornly to the morning breeze. Eita pulled his robe closer around him and shivered.

“Are you ok?”

Eita waved Suga’s concern away. “I’m guarding the nest this week. I’ll be warm soon enough.”

Suga hummed, hazel eyes flicking over him. “Have you thought more about your decision?”

“Is now really the time to be thinking of such things, Sugawara?”

“You just seem...restless.”

Eita hugged his arms to himself and half-shrugged.

“Well, if you ever want to join Karasuno, I’ll put in a good word for you with Ukai-san. Oh and here,” Suga tossed a small round object at him. Eita caught it with one hand. It was a glass ball no bigger than a marble. Powder blue smoke swirled in it. “If you smash it on the ground, it should create a smoke screen and buy you a few seconds in a fight.”

“Should?” Eita arched an eyebrow at Suga.

Suga’s smile was sheepish. “We’re still working on it.”

Eita rolled the marble between his fingers. Always something new with Karasuno. “Thank you,” he said, pocketing it.

Suga grinned. “Send for me if there is need.”

In a flurry of dark inky feathers, Suga was gone, the basket of bread clutched between his feet. Eita watched until the black speck disappeared into the blue horizon before closing the shutters with a snap.

He dressed quickly then, donning his white work robes and pulling the purple sash tight. His guard shift didn’t start until sunset, and he had chores and duties to attend to before that. But first, Eita stopped outside the heavy panelled door of Washijou’s office.

He could hear the Head Abbot inside, the cadence of his scratchy voice rising and falling as he dictated his letters. Eita had experienced being Washijou’s scribe once. The task itself was dull, tolerable only with the offhand comments Washijou made that gave some insight into his thoughts. Eita waited until there was a suitable pause before knocking, announcing himself, and letting himself in.

“I bring news from the Crows,” Eita said with a bow. When he straightened, he was surprised to see Shirabu seated at the desk with quill and parchment in front of him instead of one of Washijou’s assistants as he had assumed. “Should I return later?”

Washijou waved away his concern. “Whatever you have to report, I am sure Kenjirou can be trusted with discretion.”

Shirabu stared up at him from beneath his slanted copper fringe as Eita drew in a deep breath.

“Assassins are upon us. Their motives and methods are unknown, but they have crossed the river and will be upon us within a week. They are coming for the egg.”

“Of course they are,” Washijou grumbled, seating himself behind his desk. He pressed his fingers to his temples.

Eita hesitated and then stepped forward. “Head Abbot, we should increase security, double the patrol and set watch from the towers. I have new patrol patterns we can—”

“Simple is best.”

Eita closed his mouth with a snap.

“Do you think we are weak, Eita? Our guard is strong, our warriors ever ready. Switch the beat patterns every day this week if you must, but  _ new _ does not mean  _ better _ .”

Washijou’s gaze was fierce from under his thick eyebrows. Shirabu sat silent, though his eyes watched Eita, expression blank. Eita’s fists clenched at his side.

“Yes, sir.”

His report given, Eita was dismissed. But he spent the rest of his day worrying at an itch he could not scratch.

* * *

The next three days passed under the radiant rays of sunshine and short bursts of summer rain. The egrets hatched, the birds sang their songs, and the flowers bloomed, infusing the gentle breeze that wafted through Shiratorizawa castle with their sweet scents.

Eita heard nothing from Sugawara and his night watches passed in peace and quiet. Eita breathed uneasily, unable to shake the feeling that this was all just the calm before a storm.

On his fourth night of duty, he arrived early and spotted a head of copper hair finishing one last patrol. “Shirabu.” Eita walked towards his compatriot, the clip of his boots loud in the passageway. Shirabu stopped and turned, watching Eita approach. “Did you check both the upper and lower levels? What about the outer and inner perimeters?”

“All inspected and nothing out of the ordinary. You’re free to read my report which I will write at the end of my shift.”

With a bow, Shirabu slipped off, disappearing around the corner without a backward glance. Eita watched him go, then turned and stomped off to his post.

“Bee in your bonnet, Eita-kun? If you keep frowning like that you’ll get wrinkles, Semisemi!”

Eita glared at Tendou Satori. His partner for the night smirked down at him, his small pupils trained on Eita, watching him.

“It’s nothing,” he said stiffly.

“Hmm… Doesn’t seem like nothing. Did Shirabu do something wrong? Your understudy is always so composed.”

“He’s not my understudy!”

Satori’s sly smile told him he had fallen for the bait. Though united by the same cause, each Shiratorizawa warrior prided themselves in their strength and skill. Those considered strong enough were given elite status, their duties centered around and closest to the protection of the Egg.

Eita had served for longer than most. Given away as a child by a family with one too many mouths to feed, Eita had been allowed to stay, as long as he proved himself useful. So he did. Over and over he proved himself, looking around him and ahead of him. Until one day he looked past Shiratorizawa’s walls, learned of other warriors and the treasures they protected, and he began to wonder...

Eita wrenched his gaze forward again.

“Shirabu does exactly as he should.” The compliment was given honestly, if begrudgingly. Unlike most of Shiratorizawa’s warriors who were scouted from the surrounding lands or handpicked from the crop of devotees, Shirabu had applied for entry and survived basic training to join their ranks.

He was a few years younger than Eita, but he had an even temper and he took direction well. He was steady, reliable, a perfect soldier.

“Ahh I heard that Shirabu applied to the command position opening up. Aren’t you afraid you will lose your place to him, Eita-kun?”

“Washijou will choose the best person for the position.”

“But you’re older and have more experience! I’m not trying to dedicate more than the twenty years of life that we pledged, but for someone in your position, it would be a sign of your commitment, would it not?”

Eita stayed silent. Satori gasped.

“Eita-kun, you’re not thinking of leaving are you?”

“Keep your voice down, Satori. We shouldn’t get distracted with idle talk.”

Satori laughed. “Tsutomu and Hayato don’t come by for another half and a hour. It’s just us here, unless you count the egg.”

Satori jerked his head back towards the double doors inlaid with gold they were standing on either side of. Their greatest treasure, the Phoenix Egg, lay inside.

Past the doors was a room filled with gold and riches, tithes and trophies collected through the ages. It was always hot inside, and Eita’s undershirt was already damp with sweat from the heat radiating through the walls.

He had only passed through those doors once. When he had first come to Shiratorizawa, the stories of a monster in its vaults and the austere walls of the castle scared him. But Eita was determined not to show any fear, especially when queried by the Head Abbot.

Three years later, Eita walked through the doors he now guarded and pledged his loyalty and service to the Phoenix Guard.

Eita remembered that moment well. When the oaths and rituals had been completed, he had been tested. Pain, burning pain, seared and tore down his back. If he wasn’t already kneeling on the floor, Eita was sure that he would have collapsed. He had managed to not cry out, biting his lip until he tasted over. When it was over, the emblem of the Phoenix adorned his back and Washijou proclaimed him worthy and welcome as one of them.

Each warrior carried the Phoenix’s mark on their back — the image of a bird with its wings spread and feathers fashioned after flames. Like a tattoo, it distinguished them, reminded them of their duty, gave them purpose for their strength. It was said that the mark faded over time, disappeared when a warrior fulfilled their twenty years of service; when they were allowed to leave and seek their fortunes elsewhere.

Eita’s mark was still as clear as the day he got them; its lines still a dark red, stark against his skin. His twenty years was nearly up, reaching it so soon in his youth on account of how early he had pledged. Most were like Satori, with still ten score years ahead of them. Shirabu had barely five years to his name. They would spend the primes of their lives in Shiratorizawa in service to the Egg, raising arms in its defence, and keeping vigil over the Phoenix’s most vulnerable form.

For fifty years the Egg had lain dormant, and Washijou posited that it could lay dormant for fifty more, waiting until the time was right and the world was ready for it to rise again.

Eita wondered if the Egg was aware that it was being waited on.

“It doesn’t matter if there’s no one else here,” Eita began, “we should be—”

A noise from around the corner reached them. They exchanged looks and Eita gripped his spear in front of him.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!” Eita called out.

Silence answered him.

“Stay here. I’m going to check it out.” Eita walked toward the corner, his spear pointed in front of him. At the crucial bend, he stepped around it quickly and levelled his point of his spear at the empty hallway. He relaxed and let the tip of his spear drop.

One of the torches had gone out, and after a pause, Eita walked into the deserted hallway and relit it.

“There’s nothing here,” Eita said. “Do you think it was Goshiki and Yamagata coming back early?” His eyes searching the bare walls before him. “Satori—?”

Eita turned and stared in horror back at Satori. Thick black ropes had wound themselves around Satori, constricting his limbs and wrapping around his mouth and face. His eyes stared out in fear and helplessness at Eita, as the breath was slowly choked out of him.

“Satori!”

Eita charged, drawing his sword. He pulled and hacked at the binds. They were vine-like, slimy and cold to the touch, writhing as if alive.

“Eita,” Tendou coughed, “behind you!”

Just in time. Eita pivoted, sword clashing against the long knife curving towards him. The tip of the knife scored the light armour on his chest as Eita barely managed to parry the blow.

Murderous eyes barely visible through the slit between a covered face gleamed at him. His assailant was dressed in black from head to toe, every inch of his inhumanly long and limber body wrapped in a darkness that seemed glisten as if doused in oil. Youkai! Some slimy sinuous species that had crawled out from under a rock, insolent enough to believe they could devour the sun.

Anger surged in him, and Eita lunged forward. He dealt blow after blow to the intruder. The assassin was fast, his blade met each attack, but Eita was stronger. Offense was his best defense, and while he could not land a decisive blow, neither could the assassin escape.

Satori’s grunts and the clash of metal against metal told him that there were more. They had to finish them off quickly and raise the alarm before they were overwhelmed.

Spying an opening, Eita aimed a kick at his opponent. The youkai went down and Eita plunged his sword into his chest. Blood gushed from the wound, and Eita glimpsed wide surprised eyes before he whirled around, ready for the next fight.

Satori barred the door, just barely managing to fend off two that were trying to slip past him. Eita took two steps towards him when something wrapped around his ankles, bringing him to his knees.

The same black bindings were slithering their way up his legs and Eita felt a weight on his back as the youkai he had just incapacitated grabbed him from behind.

“Glory in death,” the assassin hissed as Eita’s side flared with pain.

With a grunt, Eita elbowed the assassin and heaved him off. Twisting around, he slashed at him. The youkai fell dead, headless.

Glancing down, Eita saw the hilt of a small knife sticking out between the gap in his armour, just above his hip. He pulled it out and tightened the straps to staunch the bleeding. It would have to do for now. The wound didn’t seem particularly deep and he could still move through the pain.

“Satori!” Eita rushed at two more assassins who had sprung up from the shadows.

Eita fought his way to Satori’s side and they dueled, back to back, denying the four assassins entrance.

“Satori,” Eita whispered when the assassins had drawn back to after their last attack, “I will clear a path. You need to break through and raise the alarm.”

“Eita, you are the faster runner. I will hold them off while you get help.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be much good at running right now.” Eita gripped the hilt of his sword. The pain in his side was increasing, spreading up his side like fire. His legs felt numb, his arms were like lead, and it was all he could do to not keel over from dizziness and nausea.

Satori glanced at his pale, sweat drenched face in alarm. His eyes flicked downward to where Eita’s armour was surely soaked an ugly red.

“Be ready,” Eita grit out, and when Satori didn’t argue, “On my mark,” Eita’s fingers curled around the glass sphere in his pocket. “Go!”

Eita smashed Sugawara’s orb on the ground and the hallway flooded with smoke. When it cleared, Satori was gone, fleeing down the hallway to warn the others.

“Here!” Eita swung at the assassins, trying to engage all four at once. Two of them broke off to chase Satori, before a voice rasped out, stopping them.

“Leave him! We have no time. Dispatch with this one and destroy the egg. Don’t lose sight of our goal.”

Four against one, Eita fell. The four assassins burst through the doors as he lay gasping at its entrance, his strength spent. The heat from inside poured forth, a scant comfort against the paralyzing chill in his limbs.

The fifth assassin melted from the shadows, materializing with a rustling like the sound of rattlesnakes.

“You’ve fought bravely. Admirable for one so poisoned.” The assassin approached him. “There is no cure. You are already dead.” The youkai’s voice dripped with glee, but his words rang true. Cold fear gripped Eita’s heart. “Say the word and I will ease your passing.” Red eyes glinted down at him as the point of a knife was pressed to his neck. 

Drawing a breath, Eita raised his eyes to meet the assassin’s, defiant to the end. “Even if I fall,” Eita recited, “I will be reborn, and I will rise again.”

Hate and fury flashed in the assassins eyes. “Arrogant boy,” he hissed. “Your fate is sealed. May your death be eternal.”

Unwilling to yield, Eita watched as the assassin raised his blade for one last strike.

A piercing cry froze them. On and on it went, high pitched and ringing like the purest note of a bell. The room began to glow, the golden treasures reflecting a bright light from within. The cry grew louder, reverberating from the room, down the hallway, and through the doors.

Shouts and screams followed it and squinting into the light, Eita could see the dark shapes of men running towards them. The light swallowed them whole.

Heat with the intensity of a thousand suns washed over them and Eita turned his back to the glare lest he be blinded. He heard the assassins cry of surprise turn into a howl of anguish. Eita closed his eyes as the heat blasted over him, feeling like he would be consumed in flames at any moment.

When the screaming stopped, the heat lessened, and the piercing cry fell silent. Eita cracked open his eyes to see the charred remains of the youkai disintegrating into ash in front of him. The sound of wings flapping, steady and resolute, alerted him that something was approaching from the room behind him.

Hardly daring to breathe, Eita turned towards the light and after a moment’s blindness, saw the shape of a bird take form. It was the most beautiful thing Eita had ever seen. It was the source of light and warmth. Its plumage was radiant — shimmering golds and bronzes into yellows, oranges, reds, and purples. It was like fire incarnate and the mark on Eita’s back burned. He knew instantly that the Phoenix had risen.

The Phoenix landed next to him. Dark olive eyes looked down on him, and Eita could only stare back in wonder and admiration. With a jolt, he realized his impertinence, and he dropped his eyes, trying to turn and prostrate himself.

The pain in his side forced a cry from his lips. Through the tears stinging his eyes, Eita tried to beg for the Phoenix’s pardon, but only a whimper escaped him, and he did his best not to pass out.

Eita could feel the Phoenix’s gaze on him, and the light and heat around him seemed to grow again. “It probably means to punish me,” Eita thought, “for my impertinence and my failure to protect it. If this is how I die, so be it then.”

Letting his eyes fall close, he waited for death to take him.

“Try not to move.”

Eita’s eyes flew open. The light was dimmed, concentrated now around the figure of a man like a halo. The man crouched down beside him, all broad shoulders and muscled arms, his presence overwhelming. His hair was a rich olive brown and long, hanging past his angular jaw to his trim, muscle bound waist. His features were handsome, as if carved from stone by the gods, and though his expression was one of blank stoicity, the gaze that he pinned Eita with burnt with an intensity that matched the fire around him.

Eita bit down on his lip and tried not to flinch as the man undid the straps of his armour and uncovered his wound. It had turned a sickly green, poisoned veins of blue and purple spidering out from the puncture in his abdomen. Fresh blood spilled from it and Eita almost fainted, but then a hand was pressing on his side, stemming the flow.

“It’s poisoned,” Eita murmured, trying to apologize for his ragged state.

“Be quiet and be still.”

Eita obeyed. He was but a man, a warrior who had failed his duty; yet the Phoenix was attending him, soiling his hands with Eita’s blood. Eita coloured and closed his eyes, feeling the warmth emanating from the man wash over him. The man’s hands on his side were hot, the heat sinking into his very flesh, seeping through bone and sinew until Eita felt heated to his very core.

When he felt like he might burst into flames, the heat subsided and Eita felt the man’s presence withdraw.

“It is done. I have healed you.”

Eita looked down in surprise to see that this was true. The wound was gone. Only a thin white line marked its existence, and the flesh around it was whole and bore no trace of poison. Eita felt  _ fine _ . Tired and weary from fighting, but no worse than a strenuous round of dueling brought.

He looked towards the man, the miracle healer, the one who had saved him from the brink of death. The man stood and Eita quickly looked away.

The man was completely naked, though he seemed unaware or unbothered by the state of his undress. The man retreated back through the doorway, unhurried in his inspection of the riches in the hallway.

As Eita sat trying to form a coherent thought, a thundering of footsteps rumbled towards them.

“They’re in the room! Protect the egg!” Washijou cried and a moment later, all of Shiratorizawa’s warriors were charging towards Eita and the man in the Phoenix’s room.

“Wait,” Eita said, panic rising in him. The man was unknown to them. They hadn’t seen what happened. They wouldn’t understand. “No! Stop!” Eita scrambled to his feet, trying to prevent them from stampeding past the doors.

It was unnecessary. As soon as the man caught sight of the approaching army, a wave of heat and wind blasted over them.

Eita was not the only one who cried out as the mark on his back burned. Looking over his shoulder, Eita glimpsed the man standing proud and strong, enshrouded in the aura and brilliance of the Phoenix.

The warriors halted, each of them dazzled by the advent of all they had been waiting for.

“Upon my word,” Washijou muttered, eyes wide as he stared at the man inside. Eita thought he saw tears shining in the old Head Abbot’s eyes. Washijou dropped to his knees. “Kneel! From the ashes he has risen! We live to serve. All hail the Phoenix King!”

* * *

The ascension to the throne was seamless. The Phoenix took his place at the head of Shiratorizawa as if he had been born for it, as had been prepared for him.

Within a day, the name of his predecessors had been bestowed on him: Ushijima; and after a second day, he had chosen a name for himself: Wakatoshi. When it rained on the day of his coronation, Ushijima Wakatoshi raised his arms and Shiratorizawa was bathed in golden mist. Man, beast, or plant — all that were sick overcame their illness, the old were limber again, and even the trees that were past their season began to bloom again. Every man, woman, and child pledged their loyalty to the Phoenix and they called him the Miracle King.

Change swept through the castle then. Industry was doubled, the land bore bounties and harvests two and threefold, and many souls who had borne the Phoenix’s mark before streamed through Shiratorizawa’s gates, eager to serve. Shiratorizawa’s warrior ranks swelled, each class doubling or tripling their number, a wave of excitement and renewed vigour in each soldier’s step, except for those in the elite Phoenix Guard. They alone seemed untouched by the change sweeping through the castle. To them, Ushijima had been silent, Washijou had no new orders for them; until today.

“What is it -♪- that breaks with a crickety-crack? Your heart of course! ♪”

“Satori, your singing is weird.”

“Reon-kun, are you sure you’re not Benkei?!”

Snickering broke out, and was quickly stifled. Every member of the Phoenix Guard were gathered in the throne room, dressed in robes of black silk embroidered with golden thread and a sword at their side. Their swords was purely ceremonial, but Eita found himself latching on to the familiar weight, letting it anchor him as he stood waiting.

The room was warm, but not uncomfortably so. Yet Eita was not the only one with a damp brow or who shifted self-consciously on the spot, wondering if the damp in his inner robes showed. 

They were tense, Eita realized. Waiting to answer the summons that had finally come from the Phoenix King, the tension was apparent in their rigid postures, the stiffness in their stances, the forced blankness of their expressions. What could prompt the breaking of his days long silence with a gathering such as this?

“Ushijima-sama summoned us here to commend us! We are to be honoured for our service!” Goshiki’s claim was loud and brave.

“Or dismiss us for failing to protect the egg,” Shirabu stated flatly.

The room fell quiet and the uneasiness that had been sitting in Eita’s gut for days curdled into shame. Shirabu was right. They had failed. If the egg had not hatched when it did, they would be answering a very different summons today.

“It doesn’t matter.” Every eye looked towards Eita, who continued, “Praise or punishment, our lives were forfeit when we took up the mantle of a Phoenix Warrior.”

The warriors were silent, but Eita sensed their grim agreement, each one of them remembering the oaths they spoke when they had vowed to serve the Phoenix.

Satori opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the door to the inner chamber of the throne room was flung open and Washijou strode in, his assistant close on his heels.

“Wake up and look sharp!” Washijou barked. The warriors snapped to attention. When the Head Abbot was satisfied, he announced, “Hail. The Phoenix King enters!”

Ushijima Wakatoshi had the ability to command attention just with his presence. The Phoenix swept into the room, attired in robes of black similar to his warriors under an outer jacket of white with maroon and gold embroidery. His hair had been swept back and tied with a ribbon, the front of his fringe cut and parted at one side. He looked more handsome than Eita remembered, every inch a king, as he walked across the raised platform and seated himself on his throne.

“My King,” Washijou bowed low to Ushijima, “your warriors. We have gathered and await your next command.”

Washijou stationed himself at Ushijima’s side and stared at the warriors arrayed before him. The tension in the room heightened and Eita resisted the urge to squirm.

“The land has changed while I slept.” Ushijima spoke with a slow deliberation that gave his deep voice a hypnotic quality. He leaned forward, “Tell me, you who have gathered from afar, who came from lands outside these castle walls, what do you think of the world?”

The question was surprising. Eita wondered if this was some sort of test. But Ushijima’s words were straightforward and seemed to hold no hidden meaning. The pit of Eita’s stomach warmed as Ushijima’s searching gaze met his.

“It is on the brink of war,” Eita heard himself say. Ushijima’s eyes captured his. Eita took a deep breath and continued, “There are five kingdoms around Shiratorizawa. Aobajousai is the strongest, but not by much. There are rumours of unrest, famine is spreading, and the people are afraid.”

Ushijima leaned back. “It is true then. As the sun shines and sees the land below, I sensed the suffering and fear around us. The attempt on my life was proof that not all is well, and disturbing forces are stirring again.” Ushijima’s hand curled into a fist. “I want to bring peace again. The Phoenix is a symbol of prosperity. I will uproot the diseased and burn away the rotten.”

“It is time then,” Washijou said, stepping forward. He knelt in front of Ushijima, undoing the top of his robe so that his back was bared to them, his mark clear and stark against his skin. “Since the day I pledged, I have served the phoenix line faithfully, awaiting for your rebirth. I have kept Shiratorizawa strong and gathered the strongest before you. I pledge to continue serving you, and to carry your light until the end of my days.”

Ushijima began to glow, his aura suffusing with power as he reached forward and stretched an arm over Washijou.

“Washijou Tanji. You have served me well. I accept your life and share my light with you.” With those words, the Phoenix’s power surged over Washijou. Eita and the others gasped as the phoenix mark on Washijou’s back filled with colour and light. Purple, red, orange, yellow, gold. The colours of the phoenix shimmered with brilliance and spread through Washijou’s prone form. When he rose again, there was a fire in Washijou’s eyes and a sense of renewed energy that Eita couldn’t help being apprehensive about.

Washijou addressed them, his voice resonating with power. “Listen well. You now know our mandate and time is short. Our king needs our strength. If you know in your minds and hearts that this is the path before you, step forward and pledge yourselves, and you will be rewarded with the blessing of the Phoenix.”

Eita felt rooted to the spot, desire and hesitation warring in him. He cast a glance down the line of warriors, seeing his struggle mirrored in his fellow warriors.

Ushijima raised a hand. “There is no need for haste. I am satisfied with the twenty years you have promised me. Our bond is not as strong as it could be, but I have peered into your hearts and deemed them worthy.” The mark on Eita’s back flared with warmth. “It is enough for now, but I would like to say more to each of you.”

Ushijima rose and walked towards them, heading towards the end of the line.

“Kawanishi.”

“Yes!?”

“Next to Tendou, you form the cornerstone of our defense. You ought to have more confidence in yourself.”

“Yes!”

“Shirabu.”

“Yes.”

“The foundation of our strength from this point on will rest on your shoulders. Please make sure to keep alive our tradition of never having liabilities in the ranks. Be sure to also polish your defensive skills while you’re at it.”

“Yes.”

“Umeda…”

Eita’s back burned. One by one, Ushijima addressed them, pointing out flaws, stating his expectations, and giving them advice for improvement. Each observation was personal, tailored to the individual, and born from years of observation, even if they never realized him watching. To be understood to such a degree... How much did Ushijima know? How much could he see? What words would he say to—

“Semi.”

Eita snapped his gaze up. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t realize that Ushijima had reached him at the end of the line. Eita stared at him, looking into those dark olive eyes that glowed golden in the light of the setting sun.

Eita’s mouth went dry. “Yes?”

His stomach twisted with nerves. Satori he had commended as his protector, Shirabu had practically been given a command position. Eita had spent the past years uncertain about his future, aware that his personal desires and curiosity had no place in an army which demanded single mindedness to the cause. What would Ushijima say to that?

Ushijima said, “Thank you,” and turned away.

Less than a week ago, Eita had lain dying on the ground, life seeping out of him as poison worked its way through his veins. Between how he felt now and the feeling of his flesh being liquified, Eita would have chosen that slow painful death a thousand times over.

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. Washijou shouted instructions, Ushijima offered direction, and Eita refused to look anywhere but ahead, unable to meet the pitying glances of his fellows. When their plans had been outlined and tasks assigned, the warriors were dismissed, and Eita held his head high as he recited again his oaths of fealty and acknowledgement of the power of the phoenix.

He was about to turn and march away with the others when Ushijima called out.

“Semi Eita. I wish to speak with you.”

Semi froze and remained where he stood.

When the rest of the warriors had left, Washijou looked curiously at Eita and opened his mouth.

“Alone, please,” Ushijima said, eyes never leaving Eita.

Washijou’s mouth clapped shut and he bowed, closing the doors behind him. The clanging of the doors reverberated in the empty room where Eita and Ushijima were left very much alone.

Ushijima stood and headed to his inner chamber. “Come,” he said.

Eita followed.

The inner chamber was designed as a meeting room for the king and his closest advisors. Maps interspersed the tapestries adorning the room and it was richly furnished with plush pillows, chaises, and cushioned chairs. It had been outfitted with comfort in mind and with the foresight of long meetings and tiring deliberations as would surely follow in the days to come.

Ushijima walked around the center table where a enormous map of the lands lay spread out and over to a tray of refreshments set by a curtained window.

“Would you like something to drink?”

Eita startled, thrown even more off balance by the question. “N-no, thank you.”

Ushijima accepted his refusal and poured himself a glass of water. When he had drank, his gaze settled on Eita again who tried to keep calm.

“You may sit if you wish.”

Eita hesitated, and then perched on the edge of an armchair. Ushijima moved to the window and pulled the heavy curtain aside.

“You are nervous, and you have questions for me.”

Eita wanted to protest, to deny it, but Ushijima would know it was a lie. It was futile to hide from the sun.

“Am I being dismissed?”

Ushijima blinked at him. “If that is what you wish to call it.”

Unable to hold them back any longer, the tears sprang up in Eita’s eyes. He looked down. “Why?” he whispered.

“You are strong, Semi Eita. You harbour the need to shine, to carve out a name for yourself, to explore beyond our borders. Shiratorizawa has no use for your talents.”

The explanation was honestly given. It was true and Eita could detect no malice from Ushijima. That made it hurt all the more.

“I have failed you then.” Eita’s hands clenched in his lap. He forced himself to breathe. The truth was irrefutable. To be told it by the being which he had sword his wholehearted devotion to was more that he could have expected, more than he deserved. He could count it as a blessing then that he hadn’t been exposed for the infidel that he was in front of the others. Refusing to break down when confronted with the terminal end, the path before him was clear. A swift and graceful exit was the most appropriate course of action. “I will arrange to leave tomorrow.”

“Where will you go?”

Eita closed his eyes. Despite all that he had read and all that he had heard, the world was a foreign place. Where would he go indeed? “Perhaps beyond the five kingdoms. The assassins who attacked us came from there. Paying them a visit may be worth my while.”

“You seek vengeance upon them?”

“It may not mean much to you, but I would at least like to learn how they slipped past our defenses.”

“They are youkai. Their powers come from beings such as myself. I do not hold it against any of you that you were not able to stop them.”

“There is much I can learn then.”

“You will travel far and see many things.”

Eita took a deep breath. “Yes.” He raised his gaze. 

Ushijima was staring out the window, gazing at the rolling mountains below them and the forests and meadows beyond them. It was a view from the summit Eita had enjoyed many times and which he would now leave and descend into.

The sunlight poured over Ushijima, bathing him in a golden glow and touching the precious metals which accented the room around them. In the light of the dying day, Ushijima’s face seemed softer, his expression less severe, less harsh, almost wistful. Eita thought he saw Ushijima’s form flicker. While his arms remained by his sides, the image of feathered wings of flame extended from his back, stretching and reaching, too bright and big and beautiful for a room that only seemed to confine them like a gilded cage.

“It is a dangerous world out there,” Ushijima said. He turned his face away and his eyes met Eita’s. “I cannot see everything, and there are lives here that depend on me.”

“I will take care of myself.”

Ushijima nodded. “I wish you well, Semi Eita. Do not think that I begrudge you this. It is not wrong, to want to be free.” Ushijima’s gaze was solemn; so serious; so sure. He had such old eyes for one so young.

Something stirred in Eita, twisted and pulled at him until it clicked and sang in him like the phoenix’s song.

“I will be free for the both of us.” Surprise flickered in Ushijima’s eyes. Surprise and something more. Eita’s heart grew warm. “There are things out there I will see and experience. With this mark, you can see it too.” Eita loosened the top of his robe, slipping the silk off his shoulders as he walked towards Ushijima. “Shiratorizawa will always be my home. If I cannot be your servant, maybe I can be your friend.”

“My friend?” Ushijima tilted his head, looking almost childlike. His eyes searched Eita’s. “The bond is irreversible. It will bind you to me for the rest of your days. I will always be with you and know what you know, and my power will flow to you. But if anything should happen to me, you may not survive.”

Eita smiled and held out his hand. “You’ve already saved my life. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. If you want it, I will gladly share the rest of my days with you.”

Ushijima looked at his proffered hand and then back at him. When Eita didn’t waver, Ushijima reached out and clasped his hand with his. “Very well, Semi Eita. I accept your life,” Ushijima paused, “and your friendship.”

As power flowed between them, Eita welcomed Ushijima, accepted him, embraced him. Their auras mixed, mingling and harmonizing until Eita wasn’t sure where he ended and Ushijima began. Even as he lost himself to the overwhelming power of the Phoenix, he was not afraid. Because Ushijima was there. He would always be there, like Eita would always be there for him.

The sun set and darkness fell. Through the night Eita slept, waiting for the sun to rise and for a new day to be born, bringing with it the promise of a new life and a new beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out concept art of the Shiratorizawa warrior's ceremonial robes on tumblr [here](https://imaginarydragonling.tumblr.com/post/180093243974/born-of-ash-raised-by-fire-imaginarydragonling)!


End file.
